


Celestial Harmonies (Should Come with a Warning)

by Zedrobber



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: (because crowley expects her to), Crowley underestimates angelic singing, Fluff and Humour, M/M, bentley has a personality, just a few briefly dead birds, nothing dark in here folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-02 14:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20277544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zedrobber/pseuds/Zedrobber
Summary: Crowley wants Aziraphale to sing along to Queen with him. Aziraphale doesn't think it's such a good idea. Short & sweet and (hopefully) funny.





	Celestial Harmonies (Should Come with a Warning)

“ - Now I’ve gone and thrown it all awwaaaaaaaay!” Crowley bellowed, slightly off key but full of gleeful enthusiasm. He drummed his hands on the steering wheel and the car veered wildly into the centre of the road for a heart-stopping moment, Aziraphale closing his eyes and throwing up a silent prayer. 

“Please, Crowley - please put your hands on the wheel!”

“Come on angel, sing along!” Crowley grinned, still playing the drums on the frankly remarkably tolerant Bentley’s wheel.

“I will not!”

“Spoilsport! What’s the matter? You know the words! Everyone knows the words!”

“Angels do not sing bebop. Aaah-!  _ Crowley!” _ Aziraphale wailed in despair as Crowley threw the car around a corner without even attempting to acknowledge that there was a brake pedal. Crowley laughed in thrilled and wild-eyed delight, whooping - actually  _ whooping,  _ Aziraphale thought in despair. 

“Queen is not  _ bebop _ !” Crowley groaned in good natured amusement, steering - though ‘steering’ was perhaps a very loose way of putting what Crowley was doing to the poor car - through a red light. 

“Crowley, the light was on red!”

“Was it?” he said carelessly, craning his neck to look behind them and narrowly missing a lorry.

“Lord forgive me for the murder I am about to commit,” Aziraphale muttered, raising his eyes to the roof of the car.

“Say something, angel?” Crowley asked, whipping his head back around and not even noticing that the lorry was  _ still _ blasting its horn viciously at them. Aziraphale waved apologetically at it as they passed and made sure that the driver was given three weeks unexpected paid holiday.

“No,” he sighed.

“Then  _ sing!” _

“I really shouldn’t -”

“Why, you scared Heaven’s going to punish you for singing a little Freddie Mercury? Hardly the worst thing you’ve done today, never mind  _ ever.” _

“That’s not it - Crowley, please look where you’re going!”

Crowley looked up from rummaging in the glove compartment and swore cheerfully as he swerved to avoid an old lady crossing the road. Aziraphale miracled her to the other side of the street, where she paused, confused and swinging her umbrella around viciously in case she was somehow being mugged.

“Please,” Crowley said suddenly, switching tactic. “For me, angel.” He looked at Aziraphale with wide and beseeching yellow eyes peering over the top of his sunglasses. The effect was disconcerting, and worse - 

He was not looking at the road.  _ Again. _

“Alright, alright - “ Aziraphale said, panicking slightly as Crowley began to drift the poor Bentley into the oncoming lane. “I’ll sing, just  _ please - “ _

“You know I’d never let you get hurt,” Crowley grinned, swinging back onto the right side of the road. 

“You did that deliberately! You - you fiend!”

“Yeaaah, yeaaah. Demon, remember? Now sing, you promised!”

“Alright, but you might not like this,” Aziraphale sighed, clearing his throat. He tilted his head while he tried to pick up the thread of the lyrics. Crowley rolled his eyes, smiling to himself.

Unfortunately, Crowley had forgotten one rather important detail about angelic singing; it was  _ angelic _ . 

“  _ - _ ** _SO YOU THINK YOU CAN LOVE ME AND LEAVE ME TO DIE?_ ** ” was all Aziraphale managed to get out before Crowley was in fact, forcibly reminded. His voice was truly magnificent; it rolled from him like clear and perfect thunder, full of the terrifying power, authority and splendour of Heaven itself and accompanied with a fierce and blinding glow of pure holy white light that filled the car and made Crowley swear violently in shock and sudden pain. 

And then several things happened at once. The Bentley shook with the celestial force of it, and then rattled alarmingly, and then gave up altogether in irritated and somewhat deliberate stubbornness, spluttering to a stop in the middle of the road and listing to one side with the kind of self-aware display of personality that Crowley expected of her. Queen trailed off into a despairing wail and then died. Her hubcaps fell off with a  _ ping _ one at a time, rolling in dejected circles loudly in the sudden silence. All of the nearby streetlamps popped at once and fizzled out, followed by the electricity in general for a radius of ten miles or more. Hundreds of car alarms blared in discordant harmony, mostly drowning out the angry swearing of all the local residents as their internet connections died. Birds left their roosts in the surrounding trees with raucous complaints at being disturbed at such an unreasonable hour. Those of them with the most delicate dispositions simply fell from the branches stone dead, only to be miraculously revived a moment later.

In the car, Aziraphale sat with his hands folded neatly in his lap, staring straight ahead into a downpour of rain which his singing had apparently dislodged from the local cloud population.

Crowley had his shaking hands clamped onto the steering wheel like a drowning man to a raft, knuckles white, mouth open unfortunately wide and his hair smouldering gently at the tips. A halo of smoke and ash drifted lazily around his head like a miniature stormcloud. The lenses of his sunglasses were shattered with spiderweb cracks, and yet somehow still loyally remained in the frames.

With infinite delicacy and without actually moving his head, Aziraphale reached over and extinguished the last lonely flame still alight in Crowley’s hair before returning his hands to his lap. 

“Ah,” Crowley said finally after a silence - relatively, of course, with the alarms still howling all around them - that lasted far too long to ever be described as ‘comfortable’.

“Yes,” Aziraphale confirmed, having the good grace to look a little abashed. “I did warn you.”

“Does that happen every time?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Aziraphale frowned. “I think I gave it a little more enthusiasm than angelically recommended. Bebop somewhat encourages it.”

Crowley nodded, once, and the glass fell out of his sunglasses. Without saying a word, he threw them out of the window, reached into the glove compartment and replaced them with a new pair. The old pair hit a bird that had only just revived, knocking it blessedly unconscious until the commotion had finished some hours later.

  
  


“I am sorry about the car,” Aziraphale tried. “I didn’t mean to.”

“She’s had worse,” Crowley said, pride in his voice. “Besides, she’s mostly putting it on, aren’t you, old girl?” He snapped his fingers and the Bentley reluctantly and, as far as Aziraphale was concerned, rather over dramatically, roared back to life, her hubcaps pinging back into place.

“Oh, I  _ am  _ glad.”

Crowley looked into the rear view mirror with a despairing sigh. “My hair is on fire.”

“Actually, it’s only smouldering now,” Aziraphale corrected, shutting his mouth swiftly when Crowley eyed him balefully.

“Well it is. I put  _ out _ the fire.”

“I suppose you want me to thank you for putting out the fire that you started?” Crowley was starting to sound a little hysterical.

“Well, it would be polite,” Aziraphale said with a hint of his usual stubbornness. Regardless, he miracled Crowley’s hair back into its usual artfully dishevelled state, minus the smoke, and followed it up with a gentle and apologetic kiss to the demon’s cheek. Crowley, as predicted, went silent again and his face burned red.

“Now then, my dear, shall we be off?” Aziraphale said after a moment. “Perhaps we could fix the electricity?”

“Let the humans deal with it,” Crowley mumbled, still recovering from the kiss. “I’ll report it as my demonic activity for the month.”

“Splendid. Oh, wait. Dinner!” Aziraphale’s face crumpled as he thought of the delicious food that would remain uncooked (for him) and uneaten (by him).

“I do believe the Ritz still miraculously has power due to a rather large, brand new generator.”

“You are so good to me, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, brightening immediately and wriggling his shoulders at the prospect of a good meal after all. 

“Yeah, yeah, don’t shout about it,” Crowley groaned as he urged the Bentley forward again. 

“Don’t worry, darling, not even Heaven will hear you over those car alarms.”

  
  
  



End file.
